


Chains

by scribblemoose



Series: Merlin Missing Scenes Fics [12]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3901321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana in the dungeon, Episode 1.12</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chains

**Author's Note:**

> with thanks to Kis for beta

Morgana forced down her horror and watched with panic-born detachment as the manacles were locked into place around her wrists. They clanked and dragged and chafed. They _hurt_. 

The guards left without a word, slamming the heavy iron door behind them. 

It was dark, save for a thin shaft of light from a high window, and the room was bare except for a scattering of straw on the flagstones. Morgana took a few tentative steps towards the door, testing the extent of her chains. They allowed her barely halfway across the cell.

She shrank back against the far wall and slid to the floor, iron-bound wrists heavy in her lap, resenting the tears that began to fall. Tears of anger, she reminded herself, fiercely. Nothing else. 

Uther would pay for this.

Eventually, even the mean slant of light faded and night came, cursing the cell with flickering corner-shadows from the moonlight. Morgana's resolve wavered and despair beckoned. She curled up on the ground and whimpered, every muscle in her body taut and quivering. 

She couldn't say how much time passed without the light to mark it, and she was sure she hadn't slept, but nonetheless she jumped out of her skin when the door opened. She was on her feet in a second, manacles tugging at her, pain shooting through her fingers. The damn things had cut off her circulation.

Why had he chained her? Wasn't being flung in the dungeon enough?"

A guard pushed his way into the cell, a flagon of wine in one hand and his bunch of keys in the other.

"How are the facilities, Lady Morgana?" he said, mouth twisted into a cruel curve that definitely wasn't a smile. "To your liking, I 'ope!"

The corridor outside was torch-lit and she could see moving shapes, hear them giggling. He'd brought a few other guards along with him.

"It's delightful," she said. 

"Oooh, did you hear that, lads? Her ladyship thinks the facilities is delightful!"

He staggered forward, followed by another guard carrying a torch. "I thought I'd come a-visiting," he said. A line of slobber ran down his chin. Morgana couldn't take her eyes off it. 

"I am still the King's Ward," she said, with as much dignity and authority as she could muster. "You would do well to remember that."

"Yes, well, m'Lady, he doesn't seem too pleased with you right now, does he?"

"That's neither here nor there."

The guard was close enough now that she could smell him: stale beer and sweat and rusting armour. She turned her face away, taking breath in only through her mouth, but there was no escape from the stench of him.

"I would say it's very much here," the Guard said, and put his hand - his filthy, pudgy hand - on her arm. "My my, such finery."

"I'm warning you…." 

But Morgana had never been more aware of the emptiness of her threats. Her position was tenuous, her power reliant on the good humour of her uncle. She was chained in a cell far away from anyone who might come to her aid if she screamed.

She was alone, and afraid, and lost.

And there was no way on earth she was going to let this horrible man see that in her eyes.

She waited until he was far, far closer than she could stand, staring at her breasts as if they were a juicy hunk of boar to be gobbled down, then brought her knee up, hard and fast and with no mercy. He screamed and clutched his privates; she kicked out and caught him hard on the hamstrings as he crumpled to the floor. 

The other guards jumped back and whispered nervously to each other.

Morgana stepped forwards, her hands folded behind her back, concealing the manacles, and spoke just as if she were in the throne room of the palace, disciplining a servant. 

"Get him out of here. Shut the door behind you and make sure _no-one_ comes back. Is that understood?"

They obeyed her instantly: the guard on the floor was sobbing and moaning, and in no shape to offer resistance as they dragged him away. The door clanged shut; the lock turned.

Morgana retreated until she felt the solid rock of the wall against her back. She was shaking, every inch of her; she slid down the wall until she sat on the floor.

She shook for the longest time, until she wondered if she'd shake herself 'til her teeth came loose or her bones flew apart; she couldn't stop. 

The next time the door opened, it was Arthur, and he had come to set her free.

Too late, too late, too late.

_~fin~_


End file.
